An Angel For Mia
by Michelle Moonshine
Summary: Harry Potter unknowingly stumbles fifty one years into the past, where he discovers an innocent girl with a history much like his own, and seemingly he is the only one able to help her overcome the trauma she has been living with for so many years. HHr.AU
1. Chapter I

_Disclaimer: Firstly, the idea for this story was taken from a book called An Angel for May, written by Melvin Burgess, as well as the movie based off of it, directed by Harley Cokeliss. I've only seen the movie, but I feel obligated to give both the movie and the book the credit they deserve. Secondly, this story is going to, after all, contain the Harry Potter characters, of which, one you will see in this chapter briefly, although it will be a bit unclear. So, on that note, I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm in no way making any money off of this story. It's just pure fun. The brilliant and delightful J.K. Rowling has thought up all of the Harry Potter characters that are written in throughout this story, and therefore, they are hers._

_Author's Note: This story is a bit A.U. but not much at all. The only real difference that was made to the Harry Potter world is that Hermione hadn't gone to Hogwarts, and Harry had never seen her or met her prior to the events of this story. Ron is still Harry's best mate, just like he's always been._

An Angel For Mia 

_Chapter 1: Prologue_

She wandered through the ruins, in the precise area where the dreadful bombs had hit, seven days prior. The reason she was there almost seemed silly, but a continuous unexplainable jolting within her, which she simply refused to ignore, had led her here, to this exact spot, where she was now standing, her feet glued to the soil, refusing to carry her any further. She began turning left and right in quick succession as paranoia consumed her. It was that feeling that told her she was not alone. That same feeling that caused chills to radiate throughout her body, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood erect. She didn't know what it was that was making her feel this way, or why she was trembling, but she knew she had to find whatever it was, and quickly.

Her name. It was Alison Wheeler. And the year. It was 1940, and the terror of World War II had only recently set in, but already seemed as though it had gone on for much too long. Alison Wheeler was the only daughter of Sam Wheeler, a man who owned a large farm and was well known in the town in which they resided. He was not rich, not rich at all, quite the contrary, but they were able to make a living. They had shelter, and food, and that was all that mattered at a time like this. Nothing was to be taken for granted.

Sam Wheeler seemed lonely these days, which can be easily explained by his wife's early death. Alison could hardly even recall knowing her mother. And the reason to which she had died was unknown to her. Her father had never told her of the illnesses her mother faced in her youth. She presumed he had kept it from her to protect her. To save her the terrible worry and pain it would have caused, knowing the horrible ways in which her mother had died. She simply knew she had been dreadfully ill for months prior to her death, and nothing more was to be said about it. Her father hated to speak of it, for the terrible memories often invaded his dreams.

When Alison was only a child, she had already been aware of the terrible depression that her father faced regarding her mother's death, and dreadful sensations passed over her as she remembered how hopeless she had felt all along. Then a sudden pang of guilt hit her directly in the center of the chest, and she felt as though her heart was tearing apart within her. She felt so helpless. She knew her father must feel so alone, and she would have never left him, if it weren't for her obligation to join the army. She hadn't wanted to, and she had spent many lengthy nights crying herself to sleep prior leaving her father's house. She was dreadfully frightened, and that's how it had always been. No one felt safe during a horrific war such as this, and a dreaded feeling of tension stood over the small town in which they lived, refusing to let them be, causing them all to think of the worst.

She worried constantly of her father, and found herself often wondering whether his sorrow would soon become too overwhelming for him. Yes, he had already lived with it for so many years. But now was different. Then, he had had Alison, and although she had only been a child, she had been there for him, and she was a brilliant distraction. Alison reminded Sam greatly of his dearly beloved wife, whenever he looked into her darling little face. The days he and Elizabeth had spent together in their childhood, laughing and playing, without a care in the world, and despite that it only made him more aware of what he had lost, it brought back happy memories that kept him in the fight.

Alison knew that her father would be safe for the time being, which lifted a slight weight off of her shoulders, as she thought of how truly, he wasn't alone. He did have Susan, and having her there, meant he wasn't physically alone, even if he felt it.

Susan Higgins was a wonderful woman of her father's age. She had initially come to the farm when Sam Wheeler had been desperately searching for someone who could help to prepare the food, to clean the clothes, perform all the household tasks that he himself, had terrible trouble doing. At the time, Susan Higgins had been looking for work in this precise field, and had come to the farm attempting to find just that. When Sam Wheeler had seen her, something within him clicked, and he had even offered her a place to stay, along with the salary that she would be receiving. After many months of getting to know Sam, and Alison, as well, she had approached Sam one afternoon, and returned to him the money that he had given her as payment, saying that he needed it far more than she did, and that she would continue her services the way she had all along. Initially, Sam refused to accept the preposterous offer, but Susan put up a great fight, refusing to keep the money, and finally, Sam was forced to agree. Susan hadn't needed the money at all, and it was of no assistance to her when she had had it. The soul reason she initially wanted the job was in order to support herself and make a living, but now that Sam had given her all that she needed, she no longer wished for him to pay her for her services as she had taken pity on him, along with the realization that currently, he truly did need the money far more than she, herself, needed it.

Of coarse, she was no replacement to his late wife, Elizabeth, but he found himself falling in love with Susan. Alison knew her father would never be capable of loving another women as much as he had loved her mother, but he found peace with Susan, and that was reassuring to him in ways. Although, Alison worried it would never be enough.

Alison sighed. She had been frozen in that same dreaded spot, that same horrifying feeling of insecurity and paranoia shooting throughout her body, never resting. Currently, Alison stood on the dirt road, which was clear of ruins, although the same thick dust filled the air, nevertheless. Wherever she looked she could see scattered wooden planks, broken down cottages, as well as all those who had perished during their collapse. Their cold eyes staring back at her as she observed her surroundings. She began to tremble once again. She was alone, and yet she was not. She felt alone, yet there were multiple corpses in her presence, gaping at her, rotting away in the heat of the sun, most looking as though they had suffered terribly during their time of death. The smell was dreadful, yet there was nothing to be done about it. She was here to look for survivors, though she knew it was irrational to believe that someone could have survived this long within the ruins. But nevertheless, she was here, and she was going to do the job.

Alison swung herself around quickly, gasping, as she heard a low moan of utter distress sound from within the boards of the broken down cottage directly behind her. Disbelieving her ears, Alison began a slow and cautious walk toward the cottage. Everything about where she was made her tremble violently in fear and anticipation, all of the hairs of her body, now standing on end, as she became covered in a cold sweat.

"Dear Lord," she whispered in silent prayer, hoping desperately that her mind wasn't playing cruel tricks on her as she neared the ruins from which she had heard the choked plea. It had sounded like a child. How in heaven's name could a child have survived these conditions?

Alison shivered suddenly. She wasn't made for this. This wasn't meant to happen to her, but the moment she had turned eighteen, she had been forced to leave for the army, and there was no choice to be made on her part. She dreaded every moment of this. She had always feared death. That precise fear being magnified greatly when her mother had passed. Just the thought of being in a place with so much death caused tears of fear and helplessness to sting at her eyes.

And there it was again, that horrifying plea for help. It _was_ a child. A choked sob wrenched itself from deep within Alison's throat, and she sped her pace, but only slightly.

"I-Is someone there?" Alison choked quietly, shivering again, as the tears began to leak from her eyes. She couldn't stand being in that wretched place any longer, though she knew leaving now wasn't an option on the list.

There was no answer to her question, so Alison tried again, this time louder, her voice sounding terribly desperate of its own accord.

"I-Is someone there? Please – If you're there, make a sound – any sound. J-Just let me know you're there," Alison continued to speak, each word coming out slowly, her voice shaking, as she continued to tremble, her heart beating so violently she felt as though it would burst forth from her chest at any moment.

"Help me," the quiet strangled pleas of a young girl broke forth, reaching Alison's ears, as she hastily moved closer to the spot from which the sound that been emitted. Alison was beginning to panic. She swallowed the lump in her throat determinedly, realizing that she had to be strong, as she choked back yet another sob that threatened to break forth.

"I'm here to help you," Alison's voice came out quicker and exceedingly more panicked that she had wished for it to. She cleared her throat and continued to speak, suddenly feeling empowered, no doubt an after effect of the desire to help this child and be strong for her in this time of need.

"Please, make another noise, knock on something if you can, tell me in some way where you are!" Alison exclaimed, no longer sobbing, she herself surprised at the sudden strength that filled her, although silent tears continued to make their trails down her cheeks.

There was a slight knocking on the boards, and Alison quickly rushed over to where the sound had been coming from.

"Do that again," Alison pleaded, knowing she was drawing closer to her goal.

She heard the knock again, and now knew exactly where she should have been looking all along. She neared her destination, moving the destroyed wooden planks aside, to reveal the face of a young girl, soiled with dust from the debris. The child looked no older than twelve years old, her normally soft, smooth skin, covered in rugged scrapes and wounds, that would no doubt scar if not cleaned and bandaged quickly.

Alison hastily removed the remainder of the planks from atop the child's body, setting her free from the dreadful trap that had almost become her grave. The child looked terribly skinny, and utterly helpless, as well as on the verse of losing consciousness. An effect of her malnutrition and dehydration. She was shaking violently, a train of dried tears on her cheeks, the only part of her that wasn't covered in the thick dust, which had risen from the ground as the cottage fell.

Alison lifted the terrified child into her arms, caressing her cheeks, and speaking comforting to words to her, as fresh tears silently made a slow, agonizing path down the young girl's once porcelain cheeks, stinging at the cuts and wounds that now covered her face. The child clung to Alison's uniform desperately with the little bit of strength that she had left within her, as Alison felt her heart give an unpleasant jolt, realization hitting her square in the chest. The child must have lost her parents to the bombs, leaving her orphaned. Alison was desperate to calm the girl, even slightly, as she held her in her warm arms, embracing her comfortingly, continuing to speak soft gentle words of reassurance into the child's ears.

"What's your name, darling?" Alison asked gently, her voice no louder than a whisper.

"M-Mia," the child answered, her voice shaking as yet more tears pored down her cheeks.

"Hello Mia, my name is Alison. I'm going to help you, all right? I've got you now, and everything is going to be okay. I'll take care of you," Alison spoke in soft and reassuring tones.

Alison watched as Mia nodded slightly, almost in approval, and Alison couldn't help the tears, that continued to make their way down her own cheeks.

"Let's get you out of here, darling," Alison whispered, cradling Mia in her arms.

"B-But, my mum and dad…" Mia emitted a soft sob, her voice dangerously week, as she trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished.

"I'll send someone for them," Alison assured her, not saying more, as though she did not trust her own voice to continue, though she meant the words she spoke. And at that very moment, Alison swore to herself that she would not rest until she was sure that the child's parents' bodies were recovered and resting peacefully within their graves.

Alison bit back a sob, as she watched Mia nod softly once again.

"Let's go darling, I will send someone for your mum and dad," Alison repeated, this time with a bit more confidence weaving through her words, as she began to walk back the way she came, hoping that she could get Mia the medical attention she so desperately required, though Alison was certain Mia would make it. She was much stronger than many of the people she knew.

"My mum and dad, are they–gone?" Mia choked out, burying her face into Alison's bosom.

"I'm sorry, darling," she whispered, aware that Mia knew the answer but refused to believe it until she was told.

Mia nodded slowly once again, this time in acceptance, knowing there was nothing to be done, as Alison continued to walk off, cradling Mia's frail frame in her comforting arms.


	2. Chapter II

_Disclaimer: I own neither An Angel for May nor Harry Potter._

Author's Note: Ok, so in case you haven't figured it out yet, the last chapter was a bit of a Flashback, everything will become much clearer further on into the story though, so don't give up hope. If you haven't figured who Mia is yet, I'm not going to tell you, though I'm sure quite a bit of you know who she is. I also must apologize for how much babbling there has been and will be in the first couple chapters, and how little action there is, or actual events happening. But I felt it necessary to explain things before actually getting into the events that are to happen. I have brilliant plans for this story, starting from the very next chapter, and anything else that must be explained I will proceed to explain through actual events in the story, and not confusing ramblings. So stay with me.

**An Angel For Mia**

Chapter 2

Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, was currently sprawled unceremoniously atop his tattered bed at Number 4, Privet Drive. It was nearing midday, and the weather was awfully strange for it being the middle of summer. The sky was dark, and it was beginning to drizzle slightly, though it didn't seem as though it would stop at that. As a result of this and many other things as well, Harry found himself wishing the day would pass quicker. After all, the faster this day passed, the faster the next day would come, and the faster the next day would come, the faster that would pass as well, and he would be that much closer to his return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for his sixth year.

The previous year had been its usual disaster. And to top it all off, the one man who was quickly becoming the closest thing he had ever had to a father, had passed on, when he fell through the dreaded veil, on that fateful night, in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. Harry shivered involuntarily as the memory returned to him, replaying within his mind, as though it had only just happened. Many nights, Harry lay awake, staring up at the blank ceiling of his bedroom as memories of this man, his godfather, Sirius Black, flooded his mind, overtaking his senses.

Though Harry had been a terrible wreck at the closing of his previous year at Hogwarts, snapping at his best mates, never saying more than two words to anyone without sounding thoroughly upset with them, Harry, now, vowed that he would not let his sorrow get to him, though it did nevertheless.

A sudden light tapping brought Harry out of his reverie. He sighed as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked to the window, to find his, now damp, snowy owl, Hedwig, impatiently waiting outside, clutching the Daily Prophet in her talons. Harry made his way to the window, sliding it open quickly, as Hedwig flew over to his bed, dropping the Daily Prophet onto it, then further proceeding to make her way over to her cage, shaking out her feathers before taking a long awaited drink of water.

"Hey girl," Harry spoke softly, earning a light affectionate hooting from Hedwig, as she looked up from her water bowl. Harry smiled sadly, closing the window, before retracing his steps back to his bed, sitting down on the edge, and retrieving the issue of the Daily Prophet that Hedwig had brought for him.

Following the events of the previous year at Hogwarts, with Voldemort showing up at the Ministry of Magic, Harry thought it to be his obligation to, in the least, be aware of any updates on the current situation, whether it be Death Eater attacks, or Voldemort himself choosing to make an appearance, which, being highly unlikely, remained a possibility. As a result, Harry had asked his best mate, Ronald Weasley, to owl him the Prophet daily, to which Ron had agreed without second thought, though his tiny hyperactive owl, Pigwidgeon, seemed to be having doubts, and to be honest, could hardly lift the Prophet in the first place, let alone fly it all the way to Surrey. Thus, Harry had agreed to send Hedwig ahead to Ron, so as she could return with the Daily Prophet.

Harry looked to the current issue of the Prophet: August 1, 1996. He sighed, taking an extra second to gaze at the date on the paper. The previous day had been his sixteenth birthday, which had gone predictably unnoticed by his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Sure, he had received letters and gifts from some of his mates back at Hogwarts, mainly Ron and a few blokes off the Quidditch team, but it wasn't the same as actually having celebrated his birthday with friends and family. Harry shrugged at the thought. Not that he had much family to celebrate with anyhow.

In addition to the birthday letters, Harry had received his Hogwarts letter, right on time as usual, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he had been made Quidditch Captain for the Gryffindor team. Harry took this as a sign that perhaps Professor Dumbledore truly felt apologetic for the way he had treated Harry the previous year, as well as for giving his best mate, Ron, the position of Prefect, although Dumbledore himself had admitted that Harry had deserved it. The thought of the way he had been treated in his fifth year at Hogwarts, brought Harry back to wondering whether Sirius would be alive still, if Dumbledore had informed Harry of the prophecy, prior to the happenings in the Department of Mysteries, and this caused another question to form in his mind: Would he have still fallen blindly into Voldemort's trap?

'Highly unlikely,' thought Harry, as the all-familiar anger he had been feeling towards his headmaster began to resurface.

"Bloody hell!" Harry growled, his teeth gritted, both as a result of the anger he felt, as well as an attempt to keep his voice low, so as not to start up with his Uncle Vernon.

Harry flung the Daily Prophet onto the bed to the side of him, as he dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs, while he simultaneously ran the fingers of his right hand through his thick, eternally unkempt, ebony locks.

"Get a grip on yourself, Potter," Harry murmured, as he closed his eyes, taking a deep and calming breath.

'I'm going to go bloody mad! I cannot stand staying here for another sodding minute!' he thought to himself, as he growled, leaning further into his hands. But there was nothing that could be done about it, and nothing for him to do to pass the time.

Opening his eyes, and lifting up his head, Harry picked the Daily Prophet back up, quickly glancing over at its articles. Not a moment later, Harry emitted a relieved sigh, as he hadn't found anything that pointed to suspicious happenings. Perhaps Voldemort was keeping a low profile, after having shown himself at the Ministry. Harry growled in frustration, as he threw the Prophet to the floor, left of his nightstand, adding to the eternally growing pile. Or perhaps, there had been attacks, but the Ministry had been trying to keep it all under covers. Though, it was possible that Voldemort was currently plotting his next move, while attempting to lure Harry into a false sense of security. That was it, Harry was sure. Voldemort was trying to catch him off guard and unprepared. Or maybe that's just what he wanted Harry to think. Maybe he purposely wanted Harry to go looking far and wide for any signs of Voldemort, while failing to notice the obvious.

"Merlin! Now I'm just being paranoid!" Harry mumbled, whilst nevertheless making a mental note to check the muggle newspapers for anything that might point to signs of Voldemort or dark magic.

'No, Potter! That is exactly what he wants you to think! If he has you thinking that you're just overreacting, then you'd go ahead and drop your guard,' he thought in response to his previous statement.

"Yes, but the whole 'Department of Mysteries' incident only happened, because I became paranoid! And that caused me to fall straight into Voldemort's trap!" Harry continued with his reasoning, this time speaking a bit louder.

'That wasn't you being paranoid, Potter! Remember what happened with Mr. Weasley! If you hadn't acted on the nightmare you had had, Mr. Weasley would have been killed!' he thought, continuing the argument he had been having with himself.

"Yes, but…" he said, beginning to retaliate.

'No, no buts Potter! You mustn't let your guard down! If anything, you should be more careful! Constant vigilance!' his mind screamed.

"Bloody hell!" Harry groaned once again, as the realization of what he was doing had hit him.

"I'm bloody talking to myself! I'm even starting to sound like Moody! I really have gone mad!" he exclaimed, frustration overtaking him for what felt like the thousandth time that day, as he stood from his bed and began to pace back and forth, across his small bedroom.

Each day, since the summer had begun, Harry had struggled to find something to do to keep himself busy, as he far from desired to leave his bedroom and come face to face with either of the Dursleys, and leaving Privet Drive wasn't an option, not even for the day, as the Dursleys wouldn't allow it. As a result, he had been trapped up in his bedroom since the summer began, and it was beginning to take its toll on him. The first few days had been all right. He hadn't gotten much trouble from the Dursley's, and he didn't mind not doing much all day, but now, after over a month had passed since he had gone back to his aunt and uncle's for the summer, he was beginning to feel restless. He could no longer sit still. He had tried writing letters to Ron to keep himself busy, but he quickly ran out of things to write about. It wasn't as if he could write to Ron of all that he done during the day, as there was nothing to write. Harry wanted to scream. But he couldn't do that either, since his Uncle Vernon would have a fit, and that's what he had been desperately attempting to avoid.

'Perhaps I should go downstairs and take the risk. At least I would have something to do, even if it came hand in hand with being yelled at by Uncle Vernon. Perhaps I'd even have a chance at getting out of here,' Harry thought, a small smirk grazing his handsome features, as his bright emerald green eyes sparkled in the slightest, for the first time since before Sirius' death.

Perhaps he could get out, with or without the Dursleys' permission. Perhaps he could wait until everyone was asleep and make a run for the front door. No, no, that wouldn't be right. Dumbledore would know instantly and would have every Auror in Britain searching for him in the blink of an eye.

'It would be all over the Prophet too. I can see it now: The-Boy-Who-Lived mysteriously disappears from Aunt and Uncle's home in Surrey,' Harry thought, rolling his eyes slightly. The Prophet had a knack for making the most unimportant things seem as though they were life-changing events, while making the truly important things seem unimportant. This made his leaving Privet Drive out of the question, since he did not want more publicity than he had already been getting, no matter whether it was good or bad. What the public thought of him didn't concern him in the least. He would, by far, rather not be the 'Famous Boy-Who-Lived' or 'The-Bloody-Chosen-One'. Harry became frustrated yet again at the thought of this.

Or perhaps, if Harry really had left Privet Drive, Dumbledore and the Ministry would try and hush it all up. Perhaps the information would never make it to the Prophet in the first place. Dumbledore and the Ministry would no doubt look irresponsible in the public eye if he had disappeared. It would seem as though they had not been watching over him carefully enough. Truly, Harry didn't need their help. Neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry had ever really helped him in the past. Dumbledore had withheld important information from him, after all. And the Ministry had made him out to be an attention craving teenager, when he had clamed that Voldemort had returned, nearing the close of his forth year at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore wasn't all bad, but Harry found it hard to be optimistic and think of the good that Dumbledore had done, while being cooped up in his tiny bedroom at the Dursleys. If it weren't for Dumbledore, Harry wouldn't have had to stay at Privet Drive part of each summer, after all. But that had supposedly been to protect him, right? Harry sighed. He wasn't sure what to think any longer. Not after Dumbledore had made such a terrible mistake by not informing him of the prophecy earlier on. And even though he had been made Quidditch Captain, he wasn't going to simply forget all about the information that Dumbledore had withheld from him, while he had all the right to have known.

'Fine then, that's settled! I'm getting out of here and that's final!' Harry thought, not even thinking much about where he would go and how he would get there. The Knight Bus was always an alternative if he found himself in need of transportation.

"I'm sixteen bloody years old! Why does Dumbledore care where I spend my summer anyhow? I can take bloody care of myself! I don't need my aunt and uncle watching my every bloody move!" Harry yelled, not caring any longer about the volume of his voice, as he continued to pace back and forth.

"What's going on, boy!" Harry heard his Uncle Vernon yelling from the kitchen.

"Nothing, Uncle Vernon!" Harry replied, his voice slightly robotic, as though the words that were coming out of his mouth were hardly his, and didn't affect him in the slightest.

"Get down here, boy! I'd like to teach you some manners!" Vernon Dursley's voice boomed.

'Great, now I've done it,' Harry thought, the words smothered with sarcasm, even in his mind.

"I'm not your bloody puppet, I'm staying right here!" Harry growled, shoving his hands into his jean pockets determinedly. He couldn't take being ordered around by his aunt or uncle any longer.

"Fine then boy! You've asked for it!" Vernon roared, and at this, Harry could hear the kitchen door slamming, followed by his aunt's squeal, and not a moment later, his uncle's heavy footsteps making their way up the stairs.

Harry could almost see the way Vernon Dursley's face must have contorted in rage as he spoke his words. Despite Harry's will to hide any possible weakness, at this, he shuddered involuntarily. He knew he was really in for it now. His uncle was actually going to come up and get him. And do what with him? Mr. Dursley had never actually entered Harry's bedroom. Would he now?

'Bloody fantastic!' Harry thought, 'I must have caught him in a bad mood.' But Harry's uncle was always in a bad mood! Was this any different?

Harry's bedroom door being pulled open roughly, brought him out of his reverie, and there stood his red-faced uncle, staring daggers at him with his bloodshot eyes, looking as though he was ready to kill.

Harry involuntarily took a step back, his face contorted in rage, as he subconsciously fought to bring as much distance between himself and his Uncle Vernon as humanly possible, while his uncle continued to advance on him, making his goal more and more difficult, as he was running out of space to back up into.

Their eyes met, both burning with a passionate hatred for one another, and at this time, Harry found that a silent Uncle Vernon was far worse than anything he could ever imagine.

Harry momentarily thought to reach for his wand, but two things had stopped him before he had even started. One being that he knew he wasn't supposed to do magic outside of school, although now would have been the opportune moment to break that law, as that was the very least of his worries. But what truly put a damper to the plan was that his wand was securely laid on his desk, directly behind Uncle Vernon's back, far from his reach.

Harry emitted a low agitated growl from deep within his throat, and he desperately thought of ways to get out of this in one piece, as he knew that his uncle would allow him no mercy. He was also well aware that his uncle knew of Harry's inability to get a hold of his wand at the precise moment. In addition, Harry knew quite well that his uncle was far from thinking logically at the present time, meaning that he wasn't thinking of the consequences that were to await him if he were to physically harm Harry. Then the thought struck Harry; perhaps his uncle had taken to drinking? Though Harry had no time to dwell on that, since he had quickly become aware that the backs of his knees had now come in contact with his bed, and his uncle was advancing onto him further.

Uncle Vernon closed the space between them, grabbing Harry roughly above the elbow, no doubt cutting off circulation, and causing Harry to cry out in pain, as he struggled to release himself from his uncle's death grip.

"Let. Me. Go!" Harry growled through gritted teeth, as he continued to struggle against his uncle's grasp, which no doubt turned out hurting more than it would have if he'd stayed still, and which only caused his uncle to apply further pressure to his arm, in attempt to keep hold of him.

"You ungrateful, good for nothing…" Uncle Vernon roared, trailing off at lack for thinking of a word that would do justice to what he thought Harry was.

"Your aunt and I took you in! We found you on our bloody doorstep, and gave you the clothing on your back! And this is how you repay us! By disrespecting me the way you have! You're a waste of our money and our time! And if it wasn't for fear of your kind coming along and setting some strange spell on me, I would have chucked you out long ago!" Vernon Dursley bellowed with all his might, his face becoming a sickening shade of purple.

"I bought the clothes I'm wearing! With my own bloody money! All you've ever given me are Dudley's old rags! You've hardly spent a pound on me! And you should be thanking me, for if it hadn't been for me, you might have actually had to lift a finger once in a while! You've bloody made me your slave! And what do you mean my kind!" Harry retaliated, refusing to back down although he was sure that whatever his Uncle Vernon had the intention of doing to him when he had come up here; it was going to be much worse now that he'd said what he had.

"How dare you speak to me that way, boy!" yelled Vernon as he raised his free hand, hitting Harry square across the face with full strength, causing Harry to fall back onto the bed, crying out in pain. His uncle held firmly to his left arm, not releasing his grip in the slightest as Harry fell back. Vernon Dursley wouldn't let Harry get away with what he'd said that easily. He jerked Harry up from his bed by the arm he had set to gripping tightly, no doubt readying himself to strike Harry again.

At this point, Harry was sure he wasn't going to get away from his uncle completely unharmed, as he had originally hoped he could. His arm would no doubt turn out bruised, and he was sure his nose had taken most of the blow from Mr. Dursley's fist.

'It's definitely bleeding,' Harry thought, as he stole a quick glance to the front of his navy blue sweater, which was beginning to soak slightly in his blood.

"You're just like your father!" Vernon Dursley continued, his huge round face only inches away from Harry's, his breath smelling of hard liquor.

"Always ungrateful! Always disrespectful! I knew nothing good could come from my sister-in-law and her good for nothing husband! People like them shouldn't be aloud to walk the streets! And you'll no doubt meet the same end they had met all those years ago!" It was easy to see that Vernon was under the impression that he was now on a roll.

"How dare you speak about my parents in that way! When you're over a thousand bloody steps ahead of them in being vile and ungrateful!" Harry yelled. His anger was now burning with the heat of a thousand suns, and it wasn't going to stop until Harry had properly paid his uncle back for what he had done to him. Not just now, but for all the years he had treated him like a bloody house elf.

At that, Harry felt his uncle's fist firmly connecting with his stomach, causing Harry to fall back on the bed yet again, half crying out and half groaning from the pain.

"Leave me the bloody hell alone!" Harry exclaimed angrily, thrusting out his leg and kicking his uncle squarely to the kneecap with his sock-covered heel. Vernon became momentarily distracted by this surprise blow, and Harry thought to take this opportunity to wrench himself from his uncle's grasp, as he leapt off the bed, despite the pain felt in his abdomen, and flew towards the direction of the door, snatching his wand off his desk, and grabbing his trainers from directly by the doorpost, before making a final run for it.

Harry descended the stairs as quickly as possible, trainers in hand, as he shoved his wand into his pocket, covering any bit of it that could be seen by pulling his sweater down over it. At this moment, Harry longed to be far away from Number 4, Privet Drive, and he was determined to be just that.

He ran for the door desperately, completely aware that his uncle was already half way down the staircase, so angry that Harry thought steam would billow from his ears at any moment. Harry ignored his aunt's protests and probing questions, as he undid the lock on the front door, running outside, and not even bothering to close the door behind him.

It took Harry only a moment to realize that his prior speculations of the weather being unlikely to improve had been correct. In fact, it was now raining heavily, and slight traces of thunder could be heard from the sky. Harry didn't mind it much, as the rain was soothing to his aching muscles, and had instantly cleared away the blood that had stained his face.

Harry proceeded to run down the block, knowing that if he'd gone far enough, Uncle Vernon wouldn't bother following him in this weather, meaning he would no longer be a threat.

Once Harry was far enough from Number 4, Privet Drive, and was sure that Vernon had definitely given up on trying to knock the pulp out of him, he sat down on the edge of a nearly lawn, his legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back onto his elbows, taking off his glasses, and tilting his face up towards the sky, allowing the rain to pore down onto it. Harry didn't know how long he had been lying there that way, but he did know that he now felt more content then he had in ages, despite the pain that still hadn't ceased in his arm, abdomen, and nose, as well as bellow his right eye. Harry smirked slightly at the thought of having gotten away from Dursleys at last, and even though he was still in a bit of a bind, which ceased to bother him before it had even started to, he was now content.

'Dumbledore will have my head,' Harry thought to himself, though, despite knowing the truth of that statement, Harry's newly found good mood hadn't lessened in the slightest.

Harry sighed as he sat up, replacing his glasses, and proceeding to lace up his trainers. No matter how much he had enjoyed lying there, and no matter how much he had relished in the moment during which he had realized he was finally free; Harry knew that he had to figure out what his next move would be and quickly.

'Walk,' a voice in Harry's mind said, 'Just walk.'

Harry took a brief moment to question whether this would be an appropriate action for his current situation, and found that, at the present time, he would choose walking aimlessly over any other activity in the world, wizarding or muggle.

So that was what he did. He walked. Staring down at his feet as he did so, though he was more aware of his surroundings then he had ever been in the past. He heard every drop of rain on the pavement, every rustle of leaves above his head, and every crash of thunder coming from the sky. He felt so alone, yet empowered. He had no idea how to describe the feeling. All he knew what that he loved it, yet he hated it all at the same time.

He loved the feeling of knowing that he was finally away from the Dursleys for the time being. Yet he hated the thought of being scolded by Dumbledore for having left.

He loved how alone he was at the moment, with no one to bother or to distract him. Yet, he hated being alone.

And he loved the soothing sounds of the rain and the way it was drenching him, soothing his muscles, causing an almost euphoric calm to overcome him. Yet, he hated how cold he was quickly becoming, and the way he was now beginning to shiver.

But this was the way everything in his life had always been. He would finally have something that he wanted, and in the blink of an eye, it would be gone, leaving him hollower then he had been before he had had it. This was the way it had turned out with Sirius, after all.

Before Harry had ever known of Sirius, he had already well accepted that he didn't have a mother and father, and the Weasleys had been a great comfort to him since he had started Hogwarts. But once he had met Sirius that night in the Shrieking Shack, an indescribable hope filled Harry. He would now have a father figure: someone to look up to, and come to for advice, maybe even live with, away from the Dursleys, though that would have had to wait until Sirius' name was cleared, of course.

But no, nothing was ever that easy for Harry, and only a short two years later, after he had only begun getting used to having Sirius looking out for him, and having someone to come to who at least partly understood his pain, Sirius had fallen through the veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry wanted so badly to scream out. To yell "why!" out to the heavens, in hopes of receiving an answer. But he knew that was impossible, and the logical side of his brain took over. He wanted nothing less then to have the muggle police chasing after him for disturbing the peace. All of the people who lived here were much like the Dursleys, and he didn't have too good of a reputation with them either. Not after his aunt and uncle had told all the neighbors what a terrible troublemaker he was, and had apologized in advance for any trouble he might cause them in the future.

Harry continued to walk in silence. Thousands of thoughts and questions were playing and replaying in his mind. Where was he going anyhow? Harry shrugged slightly at this. He didn't care where he was going or why.

After many hours of peaceful walking, Harry was quite content to know that he was now far from Privet Drive. Where he actually was, he had not the slightest idea, though it didn't worry him much. Harry didn't have any idea of what the time was now either, but by the looks of things, and by how long he felt he had been walking, Harry was sure it was well into the afternoon, the evening quickly approaching.

The area, through which Harry was now walking, was quite abandoned to be honest. It seemed to be something along the lines of an old town, which no doubt had contained a large farm long ago, judging by the spacious fields

Harry continued to walk; thinking nothing of it, until the sound of a barking dog quickly caught his attention, bringing him out of quiet thought. Harry whirled around quickly to see where it had been coming from, but saw nothing.

"See Potter! You are paranoid! You must be hearing things! What on earth would a dog be doing here in this sort of weather?" Harry murmured to himself, though looking carefully at his surroundings nevertheless.

There it was again! Surely it wasn't just his imagination! He had heard it a second time, after all. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, walking cautiously towards where he thought the sound had come from.

'It could be a trap, Potter!' his mind told him, though he ignored the warning, thinking it to be highly unlikely, as he wandered slowly into a small half-ruined farmhouse which stood only a few meters away from the fields, and just parallel to another, much larger farmhouse, also half ruined.

Harry stepped inside, failing to avoid the puddles of mud, which covered the ground almost completely, as a result of the amount of broken boards from which the hardly existent roof was made. He examined his surroundings carefully, slightly in awe of the structure within which he was now standing. As he looked from side to side, then up and down, Harry found himself wondering what had happened in this farmhouse years ago, and why he was quickly beginning to feel an unexplainable attachment to it.

Suddenly, he heard the light whimpering of a dog, and looking down, Harry saw what the origin of the noise had been. There was a beautiful white dog with brown marking lying on the ground, half covered in mud, it's head resting on its paws as it whimpered. Harry could have sworn this dog hadn't been there a second before, and now he was positive that he had in fact gone mad.

'But it's right there!' Harry reasoned with himself, 'the dog is right there! Surely it couldn't have been my imagination!'

The dog continued to whimper, lifting its face from its paws to look up at Harry, as though trying to gain his full attention, before burying its head in its paws all over again and continuing to whine and whimper, now louder then before.

Harry kneeled down slightly in front of the dog, before reaching over cautiously and bringing his fingers forward to pat its ear gently.

"Well, you're definitely real then, aren't you girl?" Harry mumbled, "I'm not going mad… Surely I'm not," Harry continued, speaking half to himself and half to the dog before him, though he wasn't sure whether she could understand him or not.

The dog turned its head slightly, almost expectedly, and proceeded to sniff Harry's hand for a few seconds before resting her head back on her paws, seeming satisfied for a moment, before looking back up and emitting a low bark.

"What is it, girl? Are you waiting here for something? Is that it?" Harry asked it, as the dog eyes seemed to bore into his soul. It startled him a bit, and the possibly of this dog being an animagus hit him full force.

'So it is some sort of trap!' Harry thought to himself, 'but surely if you were an animagus, and you were one of Voldemort's followers, you would have done a better job acting as though you were a dog, wouldn't you?' Harry continued, analyzing the situation with furrowed brows, this fingers still lightly touching the dog's soft ear.

Without warning, the dog jumped up from its lying position on the ground and began to walk around Harry, as though surveying him, and stopping on the other side, before beginning to bark at him determinedly.

"What on earth is it you want?" Harry exclaimed, slightly exasperatedly as he made to stand up, but was stopped by the dog leaping forward and pushing him backwards, causing him to lose him balance, fully expecting for his head to come in contact with the stone fireplace behind him. Harry involuntarily closed his eyes, readying himself for the impact, but it never came.

Instead, what Harry felt, was, in fact, quite soft.


	3. Chapter III

_Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor An Angel For May._

_Author's Note: I'm sorry the cliffhanger back there, but I thought it had to be done. This chapter will no longer contain those pointless ramblings that you've seen earlier, and there will be ACTUAL things happening. So I shan't keep you waiting any longer. Onward! (And be sure to review and let me know what your thoughts of the story are thus far! Reviews will be welcomed with open arms, and will definitely give me a reason to keep writing this story (and updating quickly, if that is what you guys want), as well as allowing me some insight as to whether the story is all right, or whether there is much space for improvement or perhaps only a little –shrug-. Either way, let me know!)_

**An Angel For Mia**  
_Chapter 3_

"What the…" Harry murmured to himself, as his ears once again met the sound of the dog's persistent barking, slightly muted by the constant poring of the rain, which now landed directly onto Harry's face, splashing across his glasses in small drops.

Harry groaned softly, opening his eyes and readjusting his spectacles, as he sat up and began to examine his surroundings. Probing about lightly, he noticed that he was now seated on damp, yet soft, grass. And instead of being on the _inside_ of the farmhouse he had been in earlier, he was now on the _outside_, as though he had passed through the wall.

Brows furrowed, Harry stood slowly, feeling slightly light-headed and more than a little perplexed by the evening's happenings. He analyzed his surroundings carefully, turning from side to side, looking for anything that could possibly let on to where he was and why, until it hit him. Harry reached forward slightly, touching the stone wall through with he had seemingly passed, and his hand went through the wall with ease, causing him to gasp in surprise, despite that he half expected it to happen.

Questions and possibilities filled Harry's mind, buzzing around at the speed of light as he wondered over and over _why_ he was brought here, as well as what sort of interest that dog had in him. Harry thoughts briefly drifted to the possibility of passing right back through the wall and continue his walking, allowing him the opportunity to forget that any of it had happened at all, but he was much too curious to do such a thing. He wasn't going to go back until he figured out exactly what this dog wanted from him and why he was brought here. It all seemed safe enough, anyhow.

Harry was brought forth from his musings once again, by the dog, which had brought him here in the first place, as she rubbed her head against his pant leg, in an almost cat-like manner. She obviously wanted something else from him, and wasn't going to give up until she got it. Bringing him here hadn't been enough.

"What is it you want? Why am I here?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low, though it had a slightly exasperated tone to it, as he continued to observe his surroundings. Everything was so _new_. Had he been taken into the past?

The dog whined, barked, and whimpered, doing all she could to obtain Harry's complete attention, as if she was signaling for him to understand her, and to do some sort of task, which was obviously quite important to her.

The dog backed away from Harry slightly, continuously barking, making perfect eye contact, seemingly beckoning for him to follow her. Harry took a cautious step forward, complying with the dog's wishes, though still slightly reluctant. The dog took a few more steps back, continuing to bark at him, beckoning him further, and proceeding to turn around and run a few paces before turning back and continuing to bark when she saw that Harry was hesitant to follow.

"Alright, alright, girl, I'm coming," Harry murmured, as he began to walk forward in the direction in which the dog had gone running. She waited until he reached her and then took off at a faster pace, causing Harry to begin sprinting in order to keep up with her.

After a few moments of running along the paved road, the dog turned sharply into an alleyway, slowing her pace as she did so. Harry followed, hesitating slightly before entering the alley, but complying nevertheless.

Harry took a few tentative steps forward before the silhouette of a girl came into view. She looked to be about his age. She sat on the ground, leaning against the stone wall behind her, hugging her knees, which were pulled up to her chest.

Is this what he was brought here for? Was he meant to help her?

Harry stepped closer, his curiously getting the better of him as he watched her. She looked deep in thought, but distressed at the same time, and the dog, which had led Harry to the alley, was now lying by the girl, looking content, as though it had no worries in the world.

Harry came to a stop in front of the girl, standing only a bit less than a metre away from her. Harry knew that she was aware of his presence by the way that her whole body tensed when he came near, and as Harry watched her, he couldn't help but feel terribly sorry for her. She was completely soaked from head to foot, and she was shivering slightly. Her matted brown hair stuck to her face and neck, and her beautiful now dirt-covered featured were screwed up in concentration, as she seemed to be willing herself not to look up, and to continue what seemed to be the continuous observation of her raggedy shoes. She looked utterly depressed in Harry's opinion, and he found himself wishing he could help that in some way.

"Hello," Harry said quietly, speaking only a bit above a whisper, in hopes of not startling the frail girl who sat before him. She furrowed her eyebrows, and for a moment Harry thought that she might not answer him at all.

"Hi," she whispered so quietly that Harry could hardly hear her. Harry sighed. At least she was responding to him. Harry wasn't sure why he even cared. He had never seen this girl before in his life, and she wasn't his responsibility or his problem, but he felt as though he needed to be there for her. Maybe he was just trying to be the hero like he always was, and even though it seemed as though she didn't want his help in the least, he was going to try anyhow.

Harry took a small step towards her and kneeled down in front of her slowly. She tensed further, causing Harry to frown, because slowing his motions further.

"What's your name?" Harry asked her, speaking quietly, as he watched her curiously.

"Mia," she mumbled, her voice holding a slight concluding tone, telling Harry that she wanted nothing less than to be speaking to him at the moment, but at the same time, she seemed so helpless, and Harry knew that she needed someone to be there for her. He thought briefly of giving up on her, since she obviously wanted nothing to do with him, but it would have been heartless for him to simply leave her here in the rain.

"I'm Harry," he said, trailing off slightly, as he waited for any signs of acknowledgment on her part.

A few moments passed in silence, as Harry waited for the girl, Mia, to become slightly more comfortable with his presence, and she seemed to be becoming just that, even if only a bit, because after another minute or so, she tilted her head upwards slightly, and proceeded to look to Harry's torso, instead of her own shoes.

At this angle, Harry could see how truly beautiful she was, as well as how troubled she seemed. Harry only wished that she would look at him so that he could see into her eyes, and possibly decipher the way she was feeling and why. He waited in silence without saying a word. He wanted her to begin to trust him, even in the slightest, although that might have been too much to ask, as they had only just met, but Harry felt some sort of attachment to Mia that he couldn't quite explain, and seeing a girl such as her looking so vulnerable and down-spirited made his heart break.

Harry watched as Mia exhaled slightly, and took the chance to glance up into his eyes. Her hollow and fearful cinnamon brown eyes met his sorrowful emerald green ones, and Mia looked down almost instantly, as Harry gasped softly. The amount of pain that her eyes held was overwhelming just to look at, and Harry could now understand why she was so unwilling to open up to him. Something terrible must have happened to her in her past to have made her feel this way. This didn't seem to Harry as being something that was temporary, and Harry found himself desperate to help her in any way possible. But first, he would have to gain her trust. That was definitely going to be the difficult part. Why was it that he was always the one who found himself in these sorts of complicated situations?

'_Because you bring them upon yourself, Potter, it was your bloody choice to try and talk to her in the first place, therefore, it's your own bloody fault that you can't back out now!'_ Harry thought to himself, in retaliation to his earlier question.

Perhaps the dog that had brought him here knew him not to back out of these sorts of situations, which is why she was so persistent in trying to bring him here. But how on earth would the dog have known of him? Perhaps she brought him here simply because he was the only person who had come to the ruined farmhouse at that time? No, no, there seemed to be much more to it.

Harry pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, and brought his full attention back to Mia, who had now returned her gaze to her own shoes and was sitting in silence, continuing to shiver slightly in the cold.

"What is it you're doing here in the rain?" Harry asked, his voice soft, yet slightly probing, hoping to find out a bit more about her and why she was here alone.

"Sitting," Mia said, barely audibly, still avoiding any proper conversation.

"You're dripping wet. You might catch cold," Harry said quietly, as he reached over to touch her shoulder gently, feeling the thin, wet fabric of her once white blouse. Mia noticeably tensed at the contact, and turned her head to the side, pushing her back further into the wall, as she continued to shiver, possibly even more than before.

"I won't hurt you," Harry whispered, as he noticed a tear escape her left eye, mingling with the raindrops that covered her skin.

"I promise," Harry assured her, his heart breaking all over again.

He watched as Mia nodded slightly, though she still didn't seem to trust him much. But that wasn't his first priority at that moment. Right then, he wanted to make sure that Mia did not freeze to death right there in front of him.

"Do you have someplace to stay at night?" Harry asked her, hoping that she did.

Mia nodded in the affirmative in response to his question.

"Would you like for me to walk you there?" Harry probed a bit further, hoping to find a way he could help her.

Mia shook her head slightly, clearly not wanting to go back just then. She seemed as though she wanted to continue sitting in the rain, perhaps until she _did_, in fact, freeze to death.

"Please let me help you," Harry almost begged, wanting too badly to find a way to keep her warm.

"Leave me alone please," Mia whispered. She seemed to have said it more out of fear that he would, in fact, hurt her, despite his promise not to, than actual desire for him to leave.

"Look," Harry spoke gently, "All I want to do is help you. The last thing I want to do right now is to hurt you, I promise, please. Let me help you keep warm, I don't want you to get hurt," Harry explained desperately, meaning every word.

Mia turned her head slightly to look at him, pleading with him to be sincere, as a few more tears trickled down her cheeks. Harry reached up slowly, almost as if waiting for approval, before running his thumb gently along one cheek and then the other, wiping away her tears, and then proceeding to tuck the hair that had been sticking to her skin behind her ears.

Mia gasped softly as a few quick sobs escaped her. Harry ran his thumb along her cheek once again, this time relishing in the softness of her skin before sliding his hand down to her shoulder. Harry couldn't help touching her cheek that one last time. She was so beautiful, sitting there before him. Her face held a natural beauty that most girls didn't have. And dirt and tears or not, he wanted to touch her so badly, as if to confirm that she was, in fact, real.

Mia sobbed softly for a few more moments, not making to move his hand away from her, as if to see if he would try and do something or say something else. After another minute or so of silence, Mia looked up once again to see his saddened eyes staring down at her.

"What happened to your nose?" Mia whispered, unable to keep herself from asking, as her eyes landed on the bruising that now covered his nose and part of his right cheek.

"Wha-? Oh," Harry said quietly, now being the one to look down, "my uncle decided he wanted to teach me a lesson," Harry mumbled.

"Wh-What did you do?" Mia asked uncertainly, her voice still only a bit above a whisper, as curiosity began getting the better of her. She was clearly beginning to feel a bit more comfortable around Harry, though she still didn't trust him.

"I didn't do anything," Harry explained, shaking his head, and hoping desperately that she believed him, since the absolute last thing he wanted her to think was that he actually _had_ deserved the short beating he had gotten from his uncle. He by no means wanted her to think that he was a troublemaker.

"Surely you must have, for him to do such a thing to you," Mia whispered carefully, looking thoughtful, and clearly hoping not to anger him.

"I didn't _do _anything," Harry repeated, becoming slightly annoyed for a moment, before realizing who he was talking to, and that she had no possible way of knowing what he had and hadn't done.

"I-I'm sorry," Mia whispered, looking down again. Harry instantly regretted deeply the way he had spoken harshly to her.

"No, no, don't be. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking to you that way, it's not as if it's your fault," Harry explained, "He just frustrates me, is all. He insulted my parents, and then went on to say how _ungrateful_ I was, after all the cleaning and cooking I've done for them. All I did was defend my parents. He practically said that they _deserved_ to die," Harry ended in a whisper, but then realized that he shouldn't be burdening this girl with his own problems. It was just so easy for him to talk about it in front of her, yet he unsure why. Perhaps, it was since he thought she would understand, as well as that he simply wanted her to know the truth so that she would not come to the conclusion of his being some sort of troublemaker or juvenile delinquent, for that matter.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered again, "I shouldn't be telling you this, you don't need extra things to think about."

Mia looked up at him again, her eyes now saddened more than they had been before, if possible.

"Your parents are dead?" she asked cautiously.

"They died when I was only a baby," Harry explained, as he saw her frown increasing.

"It's not as thought I ever really knew them anyhow," Harry said, hoping to make her feel a bit better, though it didn't seem to work.

"Mine are dead too," she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes for the third time that night, as she seemed to recall the memory.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered back, "I'm sorry I even brought it up," he continued, regretting that he said anything to her at all.

For some reason, Harry suddenly felt so vulnerable around her, as though he could open up to her and tell her anything and everything, although he didn't want to burden her with all his problems, while she so clearly had many of her own. Harry rubbed his thumb back and forth over her shoulder comfortingly, as her eyes closed of their own accord.

He was glad that she was talking to him, and for some unexplainable reason, Harry felt there was a strong connection between them. He almost felt as if he knew her, even though he didn't in the least. He didn't even have a clue as to what she was doing here, or who she was. He hardly knew anything about her, aside from her name.

Mia shook her head slightly, as if saying that he needn't be sorry.

Harry didn't say anything in response. He simply watched her as she cried. Clearly, this girl had never had a chance to open up to anyone about what she was feeling in the past. And if she had, it was on very rare occasion, and therefore the pain had been continuously building up inside her. Harry understood exactly how she felt, for he had done exactly this to himself many times.

As Harry watched her, an overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and hold her until her crying had ceased, had overtaken him, and he was hardly able to stop himself from doing just that. He knew that she still didn't trust him as much as he would have hoped she would, but he didn't blame her in the least. She didn't know anything about him, or what his intentions may be, and even though Harry's intentions were noble, Mia had no way of knowing that.

Harry moved his hand away from her shoulder and rested it lightly onto her cheek. She was still shivering and shaking slightly, now not only from cold, but from her tears as well.

"Let it go," Harry whispered, knowing how talking about it for the first time in so long must have effected her. He only wished that she would know how well he truly understood her, but telling her now wouldn't be of much comfort to her, for she already had far too many things on her mind.

The moment Harry's words had passed his lips, hundreds of separate emotions seemed to flash over Mia's face all at once, although her eyes remained closed, almost as though she was afraid of opening them. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, as sobs racked her body, and seemingly, of its own accord, her head leaned into Harry's hand slightly, as if for comfort.

Harry could feel his heart breaking for the third time that evening, all because of this one girl that was now sitting in front of him. He wanted desperately to relieve her pain, even if it meant to take it upon himself. He felt as though he would be content only knowing that she would be all right. Harry could only hope that she would feel a bit better after a good cry, and he vowed to himself that he wouldn't leave her until he was sure that she would make it out okay, despite her clearly bothersome situation, the nature of which he still wasn't completely certain, though knowing of her parents' death had caused him to understand what this girl had been going through a bit better, especially seeing as how the Dursleys had treated him following his own parents' death.

"Everything will be all right," Harry reassured her, hoping that his words were the truth, though Harry was quite skeptical of them coming as easily as he had said it, given Mia's current state.

"How can you be so sure?" Mia whispered, as a particularly large sob escaped her. Harry could see that Mia was clearly still apprehensive by her being so close to him, even as he felt her push her cheek further into his hand, whilst leaning a bit closer (by such a small amount that if Harry hadn't been paying such close attention he undoubtedly would not have noticed at all). Momentarily following the slight progression, she appeared to flinch slightly, as though in realization of what she had done, and without second thought, as far as Harry could tell, she leaned back slightly, and released part, though not all, of the pressure her cheek had had on the palm of his hand.

"Mia," Harry whispered to her, saying her name for the first time that night, as the realisation of just that came to him, causing him to revel in how wonderful it sounded hearing himself say it, though he was not quite sure as to _why_ he thought it had sounded so wonderful.

"Look," Harry told her, "I cannot promise you that everything will be all right," he said, feeling as though he had to be perfectly honest with her, "_but_… I'm not going to leave you here so that you can go on and see all on your own. I want you to be all right, and I want to _help_ you so that you _can_ be. Now all you have to do is to _let_ me," Harry explained, hoping that his voice sounded more comforting then it had demanding, though he was going for a little bit of both.

"Why are you doing this?" Mia murmured uncertainly, seemingly unsure of whether she should be asking, perhaps in fear of his taking back his offer to help her in the first place. Her voice sounded terribly hopeless, and Harry once again had the overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and protect her with everything he had.

Harry did not know what to say in response to Mia's question, for it seemed to him as though, by asking that question, she had simply voiced his own thoughts. He did not know why he was doing this, and he wasn't completely sure he would ever figure it out either.

"I-I don't know," Harry whispered, in hope that his response would be appropriate, and would not scare her off in any way.

"H-how could you n-not know? I-if you are h-here?" Mia asked timidly, her voice breaking, and hot tears never ceasing to make their way down her cheeks as she spoke.

"I... I-I just… don't," Harry replied, attempting to think of something better to say before he had finished his sentence, though he was unable to decide on anything that sounded much better.

Mia seemed slightly apprehensive about his revelation to her, for she did not respond to him in any way following his confession. She simply settled for looking back down towards Harry's torso, her features donning an expression of thoughtfulness. Moments passed, and her tears had now calmed slightly, for her thoughts seemed to be regarding an entirely different matter. Harry unwaveringly watched her, not taking his eyes off of her for a fraction of a second. He watched as various emotions spread over her features, then being replaced by others within seconds, as though she had a million separate thoughts floating around in her mind all in the same moment.

Mia continued to shiver, as she was now soaked to the bone, and Harry feared for her safety, though he knew there was nothing he could do about it if she was unwilling to accept his assistance. Perhaps she would allow him to take her to her home if he chose to ask again? A decent amount of time had passed since he had last asked her and perhaps, since she had now become more comfortable with his presence, though only slightly… Perhaps, now she would allow him to help her.

"Mia…" Harry whispered to her, hoping that his sudden words would not startle her, for they had sat in silence for many moments now. Once Harry uttered her name, he was unable to stop himself from once again, reveling in how wonderful it sounded hearing himself say it, and once again, he stopped for a moment to wonder as to _why_ it amazed it so much.

Harry witnessed as Mia's eyes closed, seemingly of their own accord, once he had spoken her name, but she had not responded. Harry took this as a sign that he could continue.

"Mia…" he whispered again, "Perhaps I could take you home… I don't want you to catch cold. It would be terrible for you to turn out spending the night here, and I wouldn't want you to be forced to walk home alone in the dark…" Harry explained, his voice soothing, hoping desperately that she would agree to his assistance.

Mia looked thoughtful, as she frowned slightly. She was considering him, and due to this, Harry felt a slight glimmer of hope. Harry watched her carefully, wanting dreadfully to see her give some sort of sign that meant she had agreed, and surely enough, she gave him a small nod in the affirmative, which, to Harry, the way in which she still looked so horribly unhappy, seemed as though she had only agreed to his assistance because she felt as though she could not refuse.

Her nod caused Harry to smile weakly, due to how glad he was that she had agreed to his assistance, although at the same time, he deeply hoped that she did not feel _too_ pressured, for he did not want her to believe that he wished to pressure her into agreeing to anything she did not _want_ to agree to. Despite Harry's apprehension regarding the way Mia felt about the situation, he knew he had to take her home, for if he did not, he feared she would not end up coming home at all that night.

At this, Harry moved to stand up, slowly dropping his hand from where it had been resting on her cheek. He stood before her, waiting for her to do something, anything, but when she hadn't, he reached out slowly and held his hand out to her, as though offering to help her stand. Mia momentarily glanced at his outstretched hand before averting her eyes once more, and beginning to stand up on her own. Harry accepted this, retrieving his hand, for he knew that she needed time if she were to trust him.

Once she had gotten to her feet, she did not make any motion to inform him of where she lived or begin walking there on her own, instead, she simply stood there, which allowed Harry a chance to look at her properly. She was approximately fifteen centimetres shorter than he, but the way she carried herself, almost made it seem as though she was a whole metre shorter, which was a bit of exaggeration on Harry's part, of course. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with her posture either, it was perfect, actually, but there was an aura of self-consciousness and self-doubt radiating from her entire body, which made her seem so vulnerable and helpless, that Harry began feeling as though he would give just about anything just to see her smile, even if it was only once.

Mia still had not lifted her gaze from the ground. This caused Harry to believe that she was attempting to avoid ever making any short of eye contact with him again. He once again hoped that she did not feel pressured by this whole situation to do anything she did not want to do, or go anywhere she did not want to go, but as Harry had decided before, he would not leave her.

"Mia…" Harry whispered, watching her intently, as she continued to stare, at what was, apparently, a small crack in the asphalt. As far as Harry could tell, Mia did not pay a second thought to his saying her name.

"Mia, please," Harry near begged. It was now becoming colder, for it was now deeper into the night, and a cold wind was beginning to blow over them, which combined with standing in the rain, and therefore being soaking wet; would not achieve a favored result.

Harry, upon closer inspection, noticed that through all this time, Mia had continued to cry silently, her tears mingling with the filth and raindrops covering her beautiful face. Harry nearly began to cry with her at that moment, for he wanted so badly for her to be all right, and wanted terribly for her to stop feeling this pain. Near more than he had wanted anything in his life, save his desire of having a real family, or of Sirius and his parents returning, which he knew was impossible anyhow.

"Please don't cry anymore," Harry whispered, turning to face her, as he reached out and placed his hand beneath her chin, lifting it slightly in hopes that she would look at him, though to no avail, for her eyes remained lowered.

"Look at me," Harry murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. It was not a command; it was a desperate plea. A plea which Mia seemingly had chosen to oblige, for Harry was taken aback as she looked up, straight into his shining emerald green orbs, and this time, she did not look away.

Harry, although this time prepared for the horror he was do see buried in her eyes, found himself sucking in air as their gazes met, for there was no way to truly prepare yourself to see such pain. It wasn't as though she had deserved it either. There were plenty of horrible people in the world that deserved the sort of pain Mia was feeling, but this girl hadn't done anything to deserve it. Harry was sure of that.

Mia did not seem to be rejecting the closeness between she and Harry at that moment, though she was clearly uncomfortable with any sudden contact she had received from him. Another thought once crossed Harry's mind; perhaps she felt as though she was not _aloud_ to outright refuse anything that Harry offered her, or that she was not aloud to tell him that he was making her feel uncomfortable.

At this, Harry dropped his fingers from her chin and took half a step away from her. Mia seemed surprised at his actions for her eyes widened slightly. Had she been used to people taking advantage of her, or was she simply so scared that she was unable to defend herself. Either one was a clear possibility.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized, "I shouldn't be touching you," he continued, his voice a mere whisper.

"Y-you shouldn't?" Mia asked hesitantly, now staring up at him in wonder.

"No. It isn't my place. Y-you do know that you could have told me if I was making you feel uncomfortable in any way, don't you know that?" Harry asked her, hoping that she would answer in the affirmative, though near positive that she wouldn't.

"I… I-I c-could have?" Mia whispered, disbelievingly. It seemed as though she had never heard of such a thing.

"Of course you could have!" Harry exclaimed, furrowing his brows, his voice coming out a bit more commanding then he had hoped.

Mia looked alarmed at his sudden outburst and had taken a small step away from him.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized again, "I shouldn't be raising my voice at you."

Mia remained silent. Harry now stood rooted to the spot he had been standing in, unable to think of a reason that he would accept, for what might have happened to Mia to make her act this way, for all and any possibilities his mind came up, seemed far too horrible for him to believe that they had happened to the fragile girl before him, and that she had overcome it, even if she had become so insecure. Harry wished that, perhaps, he could _ask_ her what was bothering her, and why she continued to cry, but he knew that would not be a good approach to the circumstance for that would only make Mia feel further uncomforted by his presence. He would need to wait, give her time to begin to trust him, and then perhaps, she would open up to him. Only in that case, would he truly be able to help her.

"Come Mia," Harry spoke, his voice quiet, finally breaking the silence, "Let me walk you home." It was almost weird to Harry to be speaking up after such a lengthy silence, but his taking her home was the only thing he would be forced to pressure her into, though, he hoped, only slightly. For if he had not taken her home, it seemed as though she would not have gone home at all that night. It seemed as though she would not have cared if she had gotten sick, or perhaps even died, for what she had seemingly experienced could more easily have been compared to Hagrid's jaw-breaking cakes, then a slice of Dobby the house elf's moist pumpkin pie.

Harry watched as Mia slowly and hesitantly made her way to him, for he had been closer to the entrance of the alley. Mia looked as though she was having trouble remembering that she simply needed to put one foot in front of the other in order to move forward, and Harry found himself frowning deeply as he watched her take the three steps she needed to take in order to reach him.

Mia stood beside Harry for a moment, not moving to lead him to where she would sleep. Harry hoped that she would begin to walk on her own, for he did not wish to further pressure her by sounding demanding, due to asking her so many times prior to her standing up, if he could take her home.

Harry then decided that his best approach would be to take a small step forward and allow her to follow him when she decided, by her standards, that it was all right. Once Harry had taken the step forward, he waited for a moment, watching to see what Mia would do in response. She still had not looked up from the ground since she had stood, and it didn't seem as though she was planning on it either.

Harry looked to Mia sadly, and it seemed as though she had been thinking something over, when suddenly, Mia began to walk slowly towards the entrance of the alley. One side of Harry's lips upturned slightly at this as he followed her. She seemed to be giving in slightly. Perhaps she was thinking over taking up his offer of his helping her get through her pain, but simultaneously, she seemed hesitant of trusting him. Perhaps it seemed to her as being too good to be true, or perhaps she had trouble when it came to trusting people in general. Harry could only guess.

Mia continued to walk, as Harry followed closely behind, the road which they were walking upon seeming very familiar, for he had jogged in the opposite direction along this very same road when the dog, which was now walking alongside him, led him to the alley in which Mia sat. To Harry's surprise, Mia had now led them to the very farmhouse which he had turned up outside of when he had passed through the stone wall into the past. This was also the very farmhouse that he had been _inside_ of when the dog had pushed him through the fireplace.

Harry stared wide eyed at the way in which the inside of the house seemed so new and almost comforting, unlike the way it had been when he had wandered into it following his departure from the Dursleys'.

Once they had entered, Mia immediately made her way over to a pile of blankets near the corner of the farmhouse and sat down, cross-legged, upon them. Harry looked to her, furrowing his brows slightly, as he frowned.

"This is where you sleep?" Harry asked her, hoping that perhaps, it wasn't, though it quite obviously was.

Mia continued to avert her eyes as she nodded in the affirmative.

"What are clothes? Don't you have something dry to change into?" Harry questioned, hopefully.

Mia nodded once again.

This confused Harry greatly, for he did not see any other clothes in this farmhouse besides for the ones that she was currently wearing, and despite her now being out of the rain, she would still catch cold if she did not change into something warm.

"Where are your clean clothes?" Harry asked her.

"With Mr. Wheeler," Mia whispered, fingering the hem of her skirt, as she sat.

"Who is Mr. Wheeler? Where can I find him?" Harry spoke quietly.

"He adopted me," Mia explained, her voice now lower than the whisper she had been speaking in earlier, "His daughter, Alison, she f-found me," her eyes filling with fresh tears, seemingly for a reason separate from that of which had caused her to cry only minutes ago.

Harry was unsure of what Mia meant when she had said that Alison found her, but he was reluctant to ask, for speaking about it clearly upset Mia greatly. Harry hoped she would proceed to tell him where this Mr. Wheeler could be found and why she did not stay at his home, but to Harry's disappointment, she simply remained silent. Harry debated with himself for a moment regarding whether he should ask or not, and decided that he should, for if he did not learn where he could find Mr. Wheeler, Mia would most likely, not have dry clothes to sleep in.

"Why is it that you sleep here and not in Mr. Wheeler's home?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I never go inside," Mia answered, not proceeding to explain herself. Harry once again decided it was best not to ask just yet.

"Where is his home?" Harry said.

Mia looked thoughtful, as though she was deciphering whether Harry could be informed of the located to Mr. Wheeler's home. Harry waited for a few moments and once he had just begun readying himself to give, or to ask another question, Mia began to speak.

"Across the road," she said. This had been the first time since Harry had first seen Mia that she had not whispered when speaking.

"Will you come along with me? I'm sure that Mr. Wheeler would like to see that you are safe," Harry stated, his voice once again hopeful.

"I suppose so," Mia said thoughtfully, her voice quieter than it was last, though remaining above a whisper.

Harry's lips betrayed a half smile at the thought that she was willing to speak with him properly, and that she would be accompanying him in seeing this Mr. Wheeler that she had been speaking of.

Mia stood slowly once again, and Harry's thoughts returned to when she had stood in the alley, though she now looked far more comfortable, as she was out of the rain, though it was still not much warmer. Harry now found himself wishing that he were able to grab his cloak when he had left the Dursleys, if not for him to wear, then for Mia, if she would have accepted it.

Mia made her way back across the room, to where Harry was still standing, for he had not made his way far into the farmhouse. She then proceeded to exit the farmhouse, Harry once again following close behind her. Mia then walked across the road and stopped in front of a house far larger than the farmhouse they had just been in, though it was not considered as being large, at least by Harry's standards, after having spent the majority of his past five years in Hogwarts' castle.

Mia stopped before the door, and stood rooted to the spot, as Harry came up beside her. He knocked on the door cautiously, knowing that it was becoming very late, but simultaneously, knowing that Mr. Wheeler would want to know that Mia was safe, especially seeing that Mia had agreed.

Harry stepped to the side slightly, so that when the door was opened, the first person they would see was Mia.

A gentle looking man, looking as though he was nearing his forties answered the door. He looked to only be a bit taller than Harry, and had dark hair, which was graying in the slightest, and light blue-gray eyes, which seemed to bore into ones soul. Once he had gotten a proper look as to who was waiting before the door, a bright relieved smile crossed his face, and he stepped outside, seemingly uncaring as to whether he would become wet as a result of the rain, or not. The man laid a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder, looking to her happily.

"Oh Mia, thank God that you are home! I didn't know what to think. You have never gone away for so long and stayed out in the rain! I was so very worried!" the man spoke, wrapping Mia in a warm hug, which she halfheartedly returned.

"I'm sorry to have worried you, Mr. Wheeler," she whispered softly.

"It's all right Mia, as long as you are okay," he stated, his voice trembling slightly, seemingly at the thought of what could have happened to Mia if she had not returned home.

Mr. Wheeler than released Mia from his embrace, away from her from the first time since he had opened the door. His eyes momentarily landed on Harry, as he stared at him questioningly.

"Hello," Mr. Wheeler said, his voice holding the question that his eyes had been expressing only seconds ago.

"Hello," Harry replied, waiting for Mr. Wheeler to finish sizing him up before he would consider saying anything else. Mr. Wheeler took a second longer as he took in Harry's bruised eye and nose. At first, Harry had thought that Mr. Wheeler had been looking at his scar, but realized that chances were that it was currently being covered by his bangs, seeing as his hair was lying flatter than usual of a result of it being wet.

"Are you the one who has brought my Mia home?" Mr. Wheeler asked Harry, seemingly coming to this conclusion, for, even Harry had to admit, there would be no other reason he could think of as to why he would be standing here by Sam's doorway with Mia beside him.

"Yes, sir. My name is Harry. I'd found her sitting in the alley nearby and insisted that I take her home, for I feared she would become ill as a result of the rain, sir," Harry explained.

"Oh, thank you, my boy! I am Sam… You may call me Sam. I will be forever grateful to you, son! I thank you from the bottom of my heart!" Sam exclaimed, thanking Harry profusely, as he held out his hand for Harry to shake, which Harry momentarily accepted, without a second thought, a small smile gracing his lips.

"It was not a problem, sir– I mean, Sam," Harry corrected himself as Sam glared slightly, the smile never leaving Sam's face.

Harry looked to Mia for a moment, and saw that she was once again staring at the ground, seemingly not paying much attention to the exchange between Harry and Sam.

"Why is it that she does not want to go inside?" Harry said, leaning closer to Sam, as he lowered his voice in hopes that Mia would not overhear them talking about her.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't feel that it is my place to say, for I do not know the full story. It would be best to ask my daughter, Alison, though she is not here now. Mia herself would be able to tell you most accurately, though I am not sure that she would," Sam explained, keeping his voice just as low.

Harry nodded in agreement.

"I came here now in hope of getting her some dry clothes, for I thought it best if she didn't sleep in the clothes that she is wearing now. Could you bring her some, maybe? Or could you tell me where they are?" Harry offered, thinking that perhaps asking for Sam to bring her the clothes would be asking of too much him, especially at that time of night.

"Of course, my boy. They are upstairs, in the chest before the bed on the left. You should be able to find anything Mia would need in there," Sam told him.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, as he made his way inside the house and up the stairs to his immediate right. Harry then came to a medium sized room, which seemed to be all that was upstairs. There were two beds towards the middle of the room, and only one window at the far right, with what seemed like moth-eaten curtains covering it. Harry quickly found the chest that Sam had been telling him about, and opened it. Looking through it, Harry found a pair of warm pants, and a sweater. He then momentarily wondered if she would need anything else, which by common sense, he knew she would, but he knew it wasn't his place, though he also knew that if he didn't get the remainder of her clothing, no one else was going to either.

'_Oh, bloody hell!_' Harry's mind screamed, _'What have I gotten myself into?'_ At that, Harry groaned audibly.

Harry stood rooted to the spot for several minutes, his brows furrowed, as he pondered what he should do. At the moment when Harry had just begun to ready himself to continue searching for Mia's clothing, he heard hurried footsteps making their way up the stairs, seemingly much to Sam's surprise, who was heard yelling Mia's name from the bottom of the staircase as she ran. Clearly, she had realized just what Harry had realized moments ago, and had taken it upon herself to make sure that he did not have the opportunity to come in contact with anything she would not want him to see. Seemingly, Mia had decided that due to the situation, she could spare coming inside the house, though the first glimpse Harry had gotten of Mia when she burst into the room showed him that she would have rather been anywhere but there, for she had tears streaming down her cheeks once again.

"Mia, why are you here?" Harry asked her worriedly, though slightly relieved at the same time that he would not have to take it upon himself to bring her the rest of the clothing she would need.

Wordlessly, Mia hastily grabbed the pants and sweater that Harry was holding and ran over to another chest, digging within it momentarily, and seemingly finding what she had needed, grabbed the clothing, covering it with the pants and sweater in her arms and began to run down the stairs as quickly as her legs could carry her, nearly tripping over her own feet, though managing to make it to the ground floor safely enough.

Harry followed her quickly, hoping that he would be able to find some way to calm her slightly. Once Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Mia standing before the front door, still on the inside of the house. She seemed to be wondering how she would be able to make it to the farmhouse across the road without getting her clean clothes soaked by the rain.

Harry stood beside her for a moment, noticing that when he walked up next to her, she turned her head in the opposite direction slightly. Harry could hear her sobbing, and noticed that she was visibly shaking as a result of the fear she felt.

"C'mon Mia, if you run quickly you can make it to the other side of the road without getting the clothes too wet," Harry explained, speaking quickly, as he reached out for her hand in hopes that she would take it.

Mia glanced at his hand momentarily, seeming a bit apprehensive, just as she had when they had been leaving the alley, though this time she grabbed his hand roughly, almost as though she wanted to get it over with. She then stepped out into the rain, followed my Harry, who began to run for he was beginning to feel the effects of the rain once more. Mia followed quickly, seemingly without a second thought, for she too, wanted to make it back in the farmhouse. They made it across the road quickly enough, and Mia's fresh clothes, although they had gotten a bit damp, they were still completely dry on the inside.

As Harry held her hand, he felt that Mia continued to shake violently, due to the fear she had felt from having been inside the house, and though Harry still was unable to understand why, he once again knew that it was not the time to ask. As they entered the farmhouse, Harry felt Sam's gaze watching them from behind, and as he turned slightly to look at him before entering the farmhouse, Harry saw Sam grin at him weakly, gratitude written all over his face. Harry turned back to Mia quickly, and holding onto her hand tightly, led her inside.

Once inside, Mia roughly pulled her hand away from Harry's, not waiting for him to let go on his own, before she stormed over to the blankets in the corner, dropping her fresh clothes on top of them, and sitting down next to them, frowning. Then, much to Harry's surprise, tears began to fall from her eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Harry could not understand her. No matter how hard he tried, he could not for the life of him, even begin to imagine what had caused Mia to feel this way. On one hand, he could understand what it felt like being lost and feeling unloved and abused, but Mia had Sam and his daughter, Alison, to help her along, and they clearly supported her, but that must not have enough for Mia to help her through whatever it was that making her so upset. She was clearly unable to escape the depression that she had buried herself in prior to when Sam had adopted her – whenever this had been. Harry now knew that whatever she was feeling must have been caused by something more than her parents' death, even if perhaps it was linked to it; there was something more to it that was causing her these feelings.

"Mia," Harry whispered soothingly, "What's wrong?" he was unable to restrain himself from asking, as he moved to her and knelt before her once more, as she sat on the pile of blankets. His question almost seemed rhetorical, for it looked to be as though, to Mia, at that moment, _everything_ was wrong. Harry could see that she was still shaking and shivering, seemingly partly from the cold, and partly from fear. Perhaps she was crying because she had been forced to go into the house, despite her desperate desire not to. Though, it wasn't as if she _had_ to, Harry could have handled it himself. Harry knew that the selfish part of him had preferred that she had come upstairs, for she had saved them both a fair amount of embarrassment, but the noble and selfless part of him, which was significantly larger, preferred the embarrassment over having Mia be so fearful.

Harry watched Mia carefully, just as he had when they had sat in the alley, as a feeling of déjà vu overcame him, for they had been seated just like this not too long of a time ago. Mia remained silent for a long moment.

"I was so afraid," she whispered, her voice hardly audible. Harry was unsure whether, when she said that, she had been talking about what happened in the past few minutes, or if she had been talking about what had happened years ago to make her afraid in the first place. Harry then came to the conclusion that she was speaking of a mixture of both.

"Why?" Harry croaked, "Why were you scared?" he asked, his voice continuing to sound soothing, though this time he was slightly hopeful, for perhaps now she would tell him something he wished to know.

"I-I didn't know what to do," Mia answered after many silent moments that seemed to drag on forever. Harry was once again unsure of whether she was speaking about what had happened minutes ago or years ago.

Harry decided that it would be best to leave it at that, for his questions would not help to calm her, and she still had not changed into her dry clothing.

After another agonizing moment of silence, Mia began to whimper loudly, and then proceeded to beat her fists against the walls uncontrollably. This took Harry by surprise, for only a moment ago, although still sobbing and crying, she had been as calm as ever. Mia was clearly near breaking down, and she needed help. Harry did not know what to do, and as he watched her, Mia became more distressed. She then stood, and facing the wall, she leaned her forehead against it momentarily, before proceeding to continue to bang her fists against it. Her entire body racked with sobs, and she now began to grunt in frustration each time she slammed her fists against the walls. Harry stood up, and hardly knowing if what he was doing was right, he took hold of her right arm, which was the one that she was now readying to slam into the wall once again. He then pulled her to him, fighting against her as she attempted to thrust her arms and legs at him. Harry was far stronger than her and was fairly easily able to keep control of her, as he wrapped his right arm securely around her waist, still holding onto her arm with his left. Mia continuously attempted to free herself of him, though to no avail, as sobs continued to wrack her body, hot tears making their way down her cheeks.

"Mia, calm down!" Harry exclaimed. His voice held no anger, only the desperation that came with hoping for her to, in fact, calm down.

"It's all my fault!" Mia yelled, "I could have helped them! I didn't try hard enough!" she continued, banging her left fist into his chest.

Harry knew not of what she was speaking, but he knew her feeling all too well, and was near positive that, whatever it was she was speaking of, couldn't have been helped.

"Mia, it's isn't your fault!" Harry paused for a brief moment before continuing, his voice much quieter, "I-I know how it feels, thinking that you could have helped, or that if you had done something a bit different everything would have turned out all right. B-but you can't blame yourself for it, t-there isn't anything… y-you could have done," Harry ended in a whisper, as opposed to the desperation his voice had taken on when he first began speaking. He was beginning to feel that he was a bit stupid now, for he had only just realized that he, himself, was unable to do anything to save Sirius with the knowledge that he had had.

"It was my fault… if I'd have, m-maybe, I could have…" Mia whispered, pausing, as she looked thoughtful. Her sobs had not ceased, the trail of hot tears on her cheeks never ending. She almost seemed to be trying to convince herself that it was, in fact, her fault. She sighed deeply, shuddering as she exhaled, perhaps a mixture of the cold, and her sobs reverberating throughout her body. They did not speak for several moments, as Mia continued to cry, every once in a while, beating the side of her left fist against Harry's chest, and attempting to release her right arm from his grip, to which he finally complied, and immediately regretted, for she began to slam her right fist into his shoulder, causing Harry to wince slightly. Harry chalked it up to her frustration, knowing all too well what the need to hit _something_, _anything_, felt like. Harry recalled that, normally, that need, was accompanied by a need to yell profanities for the world to hear, though he hoped Mia would hold back on that one, for, since his chest was already sore, he did not wish for his eardrums to burst as well, let alone at all, for that matter.

"Mia," Harry murmured, watching her carefully. Hearing her name sound from his lips caused her to furrow her brows, as she let her forehead fall to rest on his shoulder, seemingly in exhaustion and defeat, her fists finally ceasing their beating on his chest, as her hands grasped his shoulders.

'_I suppose it'll bruise,'_ Harry thought gravely in regards to his chest, though quickly returning his attention to Mia, who had closed her eyes, her tears now silent, though her breathing had not yet returned to normal. By now, she had dropped her hands to Harry's back, where she clutched onto his shirt so roughly that her knuckles had turned white.

Since Mia had started crying, this had been the first time that Harry became aware of their close proximity to one another, which unnerved him slightly, for he wasn't sure that _she_ had realized it just yet, and perhaps when she did, it would only make things worse. Another factor that Harry chalked up his anxiety to, was that he could never recall being quite this close to a girl before, save Cho Chang, who had been crying as well, when she kissed him. Though Harry realized quickly that that was not in any way similar to the situation he was now in with Mia, because he hadn't had his arms wrapped around Cho, and simultaneously, Cho's reason for continuous crying, though, Harry had to admit, not completely silly, was not something he wanted to recall, especially since she had been crying over her dead _boyfriend_, who Harry had _watched _being murdered, and she was now kissing Harry. Mia's crying, unlike Cho's, was completely justified, and although Harry was unable to decipher Mia's exact reason for crying, for he did not know much about her as of yet, he still knew that she had many pent up emotions that she had previously been unable to release, for she had never felt comfortable enough to do so. This thought brought on another question within Harry's mind. Did she feel more comfortable crying before him than she had before anyone else, or was she simply breaking down now, because he had lead her into it by questioning her and insisting on helping her? Harry was not sure he would ever discover the true answer to that question, and he was not sure that he necessary cared as to what the answer was, but it still gave him something to think about as they stood in silence, the only sounds heard being that of the rain outside, pitter-pattering on the ground and the roof of the farmhouse, as well as Mia's soft breaths, as she attempted to cease her crying, which seemed to come up as being more difficult than she originally thought it ought to be.

Moments later, Mia had gained control over her emotions, and the second she did, she released the death grip she had had on Harry's shirt, lifting her head from his shoulder, as she leaned back, seemingly waiting for him to release her waste, though it was obvious she did not want to say so. Harry obliged once he had given her a once over and was near positive that she wasn't going to reacquaint her fists with neither the wall nor his chest the moment that he let go.

"You should change," Harry said quietly as a result of lack of anything better to say, as well as it being the truth, for she clearly still feeling the effects of the cold, and the soaked clothing she was wearing wasn't helping any.

Mia nodded slowly in response, though not making a move to do anything at all.

"I'll… erm… I suppose I'll be outside," Harry told her, and without waiting for a response, he exited the farmhouse, stepping into the rain.

Harry leaned against the stone wall on the outside of the farmhouse by the entrance, as he waited for some sort of sign as to what he should do next. He stood in silence for a moment, and was relieved to hear a slight shuffling of fabric inside, most likely meaning that Mia took him seriously when he suggested that she should change into dry clothing.

A few moments later, much to Harry's surprise, Sam exited his own house across the road, standing by the doorway, and once Harry had made eye contact with him, he began motioning for Harry to come and speak to him. Without hesitation, Harry made his way across the road, stopping before Sam, his eyebrow raised slightly in question. Sam just smiled.

"Is there something you need, sir- erm, Sam?" Harry corrected himself for the second time that night. Sam's smile grew slightly.

"I was going to suggest to you, Harry, that since you've been of so much assistance to Mia and I, that perhaps, it would be more accommodating to you if you were to spend the night with us," Sam offered. Harry furrowed his brows slightly at this.

"Well, I don't want to be any trouble…" Harry began explaining, though was interrupted by Sam before he had the opportunity to continue on.

"Nonsense, son! It's no trouble at all! Especially seeing as you've helped us out," Sam insisted, "And I'm sure it would be quite the inconvenience for you if you were to have to walk home in this rain, and at this time of night, no less," he continued.

"Well, if you're sure," Harry told him. Harry knew that Sam's offer would definitely be of assistance to him, for he truly did not have anywhere to stay that night, and he was not planning on leaving so soon, not when he had only just met Mia, and was so eager to learn more about her. Besides, even if he were to go back to his own time, there would be nowhere he wanted to go. He was definitely not going to back to the Dursleys, especially after the way Vernon had treated him, being one of the substantial reasons of his departure to start with.

"Of course, son," Sam assured him.

"Thank you very much si-Sam," Harry smiled. Sam shook his head slightly in amusement due to Harry continuous attempt at calling him 'sir'.

"My pleasure, Harry. My pleasure," Sam replied.

"Erm, well I suppose I should tell Mia… I mean, I don't want her to be wondering where I've gone off to, I told her I'd be waiting outside," Harry explained, earning a nod from Sam, who retreated back into the house, leaving the door open a crack, as Harry retraced his steps across the road, returning to the farmhouse. Harry stopped before looking into the door, and wanting to be sure that Mia had finished changing, he knocked lightly on the doorpost.

"Come in," came Mia's soft, whispered voice from inside, followed by a barely audible sniff. Harry stepped inside cautiously, to see that Mia was now seated in the corner, wearing her dry clothing, and wrapped in blankets. She had a few tears trailing down her cheeks, though there was no other sign of her having cried. Harry frowned slightly as he watched her lean against the wall, pulling the blankets tighter around her. He walked towards her carefully, but seeing that she did not make any sort of objection to his coming closer, he closed the distance between them, kneeling down beside her, and watching her carefully.

Slowly but surely, Harry reached up brushing his fingers over her cheeks lightly to wipe away her tears. This caused Mia's eyes to close of their own accord, as she inhaled sharply.

"Mia, I just wanted to let you know that Sam has let me stay in the house for the night, so, I suppose, if you need me or anything of the sort, you'll know where I am," Harry told her.

Mia nodded slightly in understanding.

"Well, goodnight," Harry whispered, brushing his fingers over her cheek one last time before standing up, and leaving the farmhouse, not looking back for fear that if he did, he would be unable to leave Mia there on her own, but he did not want to make her uncomfortable, and that thought made to alleviate the pain, as he continued to walk.

Once he made it to Sam's house, he closed the door behind him only to find Sam standing patiently beside the staircase, seemingly waiting for him to return. Sam explained that Harry would be sleeping upstairs, in the room he had been in earlier, and that he had prepared a change of clothes for Harry, for he was wet from the rain, as well. Harry wondered for a moment why Sam would have extra clothing lying around, seeing as he was the only male that lived in the house, but Harry thought it out of place to ask, so he simply accepted them with gratitude, thanking Sam, as he made his way upstairs, changed into the clean clothes, and laid down on the bed to the right of the room. Harry lay awake part of the night, gazing unblinkingly at the ceiling, until his eyelids became heavy and he finally fell into slumber.


End file.
